


Don't Lose Your Head Over It

by hanktalkin



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, Betrayal, Decapitation, Fights, Gen, Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-01 15:06:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12707394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: A fic centered entirely on the WAR! and the effects on it its two participants.(remember me as i was not as i am)





	1. Taking a Contract

Pauling’s car disappeared over the horizon, leaving Tavish standing with the sword still clutched in his hands. Her parting words rang in his ears like an entire orchestra was tuning him to death, the warbling notes getting higher then lower with no rhyme or reason.

She had to be wrong.

_You know she isn’t. She works for the Administrator. She knows everything._

But that was impossible. Jane would never do this, not after the best six months of Tavish’s life had left them faster friends than they knew how to processes. They had a bond, something unbreakable.

_Obviously you didn’t mean as much to him as you thought._

Tavish recoiled from the truth, but that didn’t mean he could fully deny it. Just like he couldn’t deny the pain in his chest that clawed at him even harder as the minutes ticked by. He blinked away the green glow in his eye and tried to make sense of it all.

Jane had taken a hit out on him. After everything they’d been through.

_That bastard._

Tavish’s hand tightened around the sword. Fuck him. Fuck everything. There was a very real pain inside the Demoman, a gaping hole where his friend used to be. He chose to fill it with anger.

* * *

Monday. The start of a new battle. Only this one didn’t bring Tavish a sense of excitement that his job usually did, the first day of the War sucking out any motivation from his otherwise joyous career. It was dry, lifeless, the only thing keeping him upright and fighting was the scrumpy and a need for revenge.

Tavish stood over the battlefield, the open area of Dustbowl cleared as RED retreated to the first capture point, but the goals of RED team and the goals of the Demoman no longer exclusively aligned. He had points to win now, ones that were earned by killing his former best friend instead of playing the usual game. The announcement had blared to the assembled RED before mission start, telling his fellow teammates how lucky he was to be allowed to compete in this special assignment.

“The winner will receive a prize,” the Administrator had explained. “Let this be a lesson to all of you; this is the price of betraying me and RED. With your _friend-making_.”

The other REDs had looked at him, but he had ignored their awkward side-eyes and judgmental glares. They wouldn’t understand why he’d done it in the first place. Like any of those dunderheads had emotional depth greater than a teaspoon, or could imagine having a friend that wasn’t just for getting plastered and talking about ass. They couldn’t fathom why he’d put it all on the line for a BLU.

They wouldn’t get how much he’d loved that man.

Tavish blinked, still searching for any incoming BLUs, his new weapons lying heavily across his back. Could he even do it when it came down to it? Would he even be able to strike down Jane out of malice instead of contractual duty?

_It’s not like he’s going to hesitate. He didn’t when he took that deal._

But still, the thought of hurting Jane…not even killing but _betraying_ him, it made Tavish’s gut clench.

The twenty-minute announcement clicked on, and that’s when Tavish saw him. It was the first time they’d looked at each other since the War started, and despair forced its way into Tavish’s chest when he saw the Soldier’s face. Some part of him had still been hoping Pauling was wrong, that Jane was just as confused as he was, but the look Jane gave him wiped all that away. Underneath helmet was a snarl of pure hatred, one that the American reserved purely for communists and dog shit. There was no doubt who he was looking at, no hiding from the fact that Jane planned on killing Tavish here and now.

_You don’t matter to him. Not when there’s a fabulous prize on the line._

Tavish’s hand tightened on the sword. That was all he was worth, huh? A new fucking rocket launcher to sit on Jane’s shoulder? A scream of rage boiled from within the Demoman, and his vision ignited in green.

The scream carried him forward, bringing his new shield in front of him as he tore down the hill. Jane reacted, but clumsily, the pure ferocity of Tavish’s charge startling him. A rocket landed to the left, but Tavish barely felt it, and it didn’t even slow him and he shoved the shield’s metal spike into its target.

Jane was thrown back with a yelp, the force dislodging him from the spike and sending him against the rock wall. Tavish’s follow-up swing came down, so confident it felt more like the sword was pulling him than he was swinging it. Jane looked up, still clutching his stomach, and only barely moved out of the way as the Eyelander clanged against the wall behind him.

“When I’m done with you, you’re going to wish I’d killed you the day we met!” Tavish screamed, his voice sounding warbled and unearthly to his own ears.

Jane staggered, but held his ground. The hatred in his eyes burned sharper than ever, the surprise that had replaced it now gone, and he clutched at his side for his shovel-

Only to pull out a menacing looking pickaxe. It was already stained with blood, from what Tavish couldn’t guess, and didn’t want to either.

Jane smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Hope you like your new fairy-wand, maggot. BECAUSE YOU’RE GOING TO BECOME REAL AQUAINTED WITH IT WHEN I SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS.”

Jane charged, not as long or as fast as Tavish, but certainly with as much strength. The pickaxe curved at Tavish’s head, and the Eyelander seemed to jump of its own accord and block the strike.

The time for hurling insults was over. Now they danced.

Blade clashed against axe, the Eyelander’s range reduced inside the tight ring they circled. Tavish’s hands, Jane’s face, sparks of steel on steel, it all flashed before the Demoman’s mind as they dueled harder than they ever had. But the sword was broader, safer as it blocked each of Jane’s swings and smashed through the Soldier’s guard.

With a scream, Tavish broke the last of it, cutting Jane’s arm clean off and sending his weapon flying. Jane stumbled, clutching his stump, but not forgetting to look up and stare defiantly into Tavish’s eye.

_Make him pay._

Tavish did, one final swoop taking Jane’s head from his shoulders. It landed with a thump a few feet away.

Immediately, Tavish staggered under the adrenaline, the need to kill still coursing through his body even with no one else around. He could hear a fight, over at the capture point, but it felt so far away it might as well have been back at Suijin. Supporting himself against the wall, he struggled for balance, just like would on a particularly hard binge.

He felt sick. He’d fought Jane before but…even after they’d become friends their battles had always been joyous and lightly competitive. Now Jane’s head was severed from his body like the statue in Tavish’s front lawn.

He closed his eye and dried to make the green fire go away.

_Fuck him. After turning his back on you, he doesn’t deserve your pity._

True. But that didn’t stop the guilt welling inside Tavish’s stomach. It hit him then the significance; he’d earned the first point. The War had officially begun.

He stepped over to where the head was, bloody and covered in dirt. With a shaking hand, he closed its eyes. And then he retched.

* * *

At the end of the day, Tavish went back to base. He ate with the team. He sat in the rec room afterwards to watch TV. He ignored all the stares aimed at the back of his head.

It all felt so…monotonous. Lifeless. Like everyone should be able to feel what Tavish was feeling, turning over furniture and screaming in protest. But no, things went on as normal, like the whole world wasn’t crashing down.

Tavish went through five bottles of scrumpy before he hauled himself off to bed, dangerously close to setting a new personal record. He didn’t sleep at all that night, and saw dawn creeping through his bedroom window only to realize it was another day of War.

He stood at the gate, somehow less of a man even with the bright and shiny point to show for his efforts. There was no confidence in his stride, no love has his hand drifted over the Chargin’ Targe to rub its faded paint. The sight of Jane’s eyes before he’d been decapitated haunted Tavish, and he was defeated before the match even started.

Jane paid him back on the second day. Twice. It brought the total to an ugly two-to-one, and Tavish glared at the small scoreboard that had been set up under the normal one. Fire burned in his belly, a desire to carve out that self–satisfied smirk that Jane would no-doubt wear the rest of his life if he won this competition. Tavish couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let his false sympathies make him forget how thoroughly he’d been betrayed.

That night, he resolved himself. He’d win this fucking War, no matter if he had to fight himself along the way too.

But he still couldn’t sleep. He slammed back more scrumpy, even dipping into his emergency stores, but somehow being drunk only made it worse. It mellowed the anger until all that was left was regret and an image of Jane’s face in profile when they’d watched the Badland Brawlers play that one time…

He yelled into his pillow. God he just wanted it to stop.

_It’s easier when you’re fighting._

Tavish sighed. It was. If he threw himself into the battle he could almost forget how much all this hurt.

But he couldn’t fight forever, and he couldn’t just lay here, wallowing in his own misery. He drunkenly pushed himself out of bed.

The halls of RED base were empty, its members in bed long ago, even the more nocturnal ones like Medic. Tavish wandered down corridors and through familiar rooms as though in a trance, the alcohol making him bump into furniture every now and again. After a time, he found himself in the armory, the dozens of weapons staring down with unsaid malice.

He didn’t remember picking up the Eyelander. But suddenly, the sword was sitting in his hand while Tavish felt a sudden wave exhaustion sink upon him. Because as soon as he touched the Eyelander he felt… _good_. Like all the guilt of the passed few days was washed away, and he could oblige his body its much-needed sleep.

Something clicked in the back of Tavish’s mind. This was…wrong, he…shouldn’t be feeling like this. Just as quickly as he picked it up, he shoved the sword away, to several protests of _heads heads heads heads_.

Tavish ran up to his room and spent a sleepless night with a pillow over his face.

* * *

Recycle, rinse, repeat. Every minute he was off the battlefield, it felt like he was dying, the horrors that’d he’d done during the day impossible to shake. Just as bad were when Jane got to him first, usually killing him with that fucking rocket launcher before Tavish even knew what hit him. Sometimes he’d just wake up in respawn down a point. But more often, Jane would savor the kill, coming over to finish him off and get a few more insults in.

Tavish was averaging three hours of sleep a night. It was affecting his performance, and he was barely able to keep up with the Soldier’s seemingly endless bloodlust, always trailing behind by at least a few points. It was killing him, with not even a pathetic illusion of superiority to hang on to.

Halfway through when the War was expected to end. He laid down, one of the rare nights when he actually managed to squeeze a few hours in, and dreamed.

> _He’s sitting down, miles above the earth, legs dangling over the edge of the construction equipment as he gazes at the piles of gravel churning like an ocean. Jane’s beside him, sharing the scene as their boots kick in the breeze._
> 
> It’s a memory, not a dream, but Tavish doesn’t know that yet.
> 
> _“This is…incredible,” Jane says, and Tavish looks over at him. He’s so…happy. Here above the world, outside their troubles and the fact that their friendship is forbidden. He grins at Tavish, eyes matching the sky that surrounds them._
> 
> In real life, Jane was still wearing his helmet. And they were only a few hundred feet, not miles. But none of that matters.
> 
> _They’ve snuck out here, away from the tour bus, hoping to enjoy some time just the two them. It’s freeing when they talk, more than even being hammered ever brought them. They laugh, and words pour out of them that are just honest enough._
> 
> _“You’re my only friend,” Jane admits, looking at his hands._
> 
> _“Yeah. And you’re mine,” Tavish says right back._
> 
> _And then things change._
> 
> _Without thinking, without knowing why, Tavish reaches over and shoves Jane. The Soldier slips, jerking forward as terror forms in his sky-colored eyes._
> 
> _Suddenly their positions are different, missing frames where Tavish would have taken the time to stand. But the dream demands it, and he’s standing over Jane while the Soldier clings to the metal rafters._
> 
> _“Tavish!” Jane yells, and it’s more genuine and frantic Tavish ever thought he could be. “Help me!”_
> 
> _And Tavish just laughs. He feels it in his body, but has no control, like this is a memory that’s already happened._
> 
> Because, in a way, it has.
> 
> _Instead, of helping, Tavish puts one boot over the Soldier’s hand, and presses._
> 
> _“No!” Jane pleads. One of his fingers looses its grasp. “P-please, Tavish! Why are you doing this?”_
> 
> _His eyes are wide with fear. The gravel ocean below them swirls, waves crashing hundreds of feet high. The sky has turned black, a storm surrounding the two men in the high tower._
> 
> _“You know why,” Tavish says, and grinds away another finger._
> 
> _“I don’t!” Jane begs. “Please whatever I did I’m sorry!”_
> 
> _Tavish grins. He lifts his boot one final time and slams down hard. Fingers break, and Jane slides away, falling, falling, disappearing into the grey nothing, the last thing he sees is Tavish smiling above him._

Tavish woke from the dream screaming. He rolled off the bed, landing on the floor with a painful _thump_ , and didn’t stop. Sweat flowed over every inch of him, the sight of Jane’s helpless face burned into his mind.

Why? Why had he agreed to all of this? How could he have gone through it all after everything he and Jane had done? If he’d just thought it through a little more, if he hadn’t been so _angry_ …He could have gone to Jane. Talked it all out. Asked him _why_.

And worse, it was too late. Too many mistakes. He’d have to keep going through this, killing Jane again and again and again in this nightmare that was his life. Only this one he couldn’t wake up from.

Tavish stumbled to his knees, his voice sore from shouting into oblivion. He needed to make it stop. Anything to make the guilt stop.

_You know what to do._

He rose. Gone from his bedroom and still not sure where he was headed, he pushed past the teammates that had woken from the sound of his hysterics. He didn’t care, half blind by his own tears until he makes it back down to the armory.

He needed it to stop. Nothing else mattered.

He found where he’d stored the Eyelander after last fight, clutching the pommel like it was his last lifeline to an ever-fading world.

_There. Isn’t that better?_

Instantly, warm relief flowed up his arm. It blocked out the guilt, much like scrumpy used to dull the feelings of the real world when they got too much. When he used to get nightmares about his adoptive parents, the drink was the only thing that helped him through. He became enchanted, dependent even—but anything was better than the nightmares.

Now, he held the sword in his hand and felt the trauma melt away. It was an old friend, sitting right in the back of his mind, telling him exactly what he needed to hear.

_It’s not your fault, Tavish. He started this. He’s insane, and betrayed you for some fancy trinkets. There’s nothing you could have done._

He gasped, tears retreating from his eye as the world took on a jade tint. The pain had finally stopped.

Staggering off to his room, he dragged the blade along the wooden floor as he went. He tucked the sword under his pillow, and was asleep as soon as his eye slid closed.


	2. Eliminating a Target

It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can get you.

With the Eyelander by his side, things were so much better now. Life never got too much, and he was able to tear through Jane and the other BLUs with more efficiency than he’d ever felt under his own powers. He didn’t even need the bottle anymore to aim straight, becoming a terror to the entire enemy team overnight.

They feared him. As they should. He was vicious now, and something else he’d noticed during his onslaught was that the more he gave the Eyelander what it wanted, the stronger he became. It demanded heads, and Tavish obliged, feeding the sword throat after BLU throat as the respawn machine just spit out more for it to gobble up. Each time he became faster, stronger, able to stand within a torrent of a Heavy’s bullets or any number of egregious flesh wounds.

Point by point he pulled ahead. There was no moment when he and the sword were apart, waking or not. He no longer kept it under his pillow, instead resting it against his side while he slept so he could feel the glowing comfort against his skin. Meals were the worst, when he needed both hands to get food in his mouth, but even that he was able to circumnavigate by placing the blade across his thighs while he ate.

Things were getting better. Until, once again, they weren’t.

He’d cornered Jane, the third time that day already. The Soldier was bleeding profusely, the victim of RED Heavy’s ambush, but that was fine. The only thing Tavish wanted was the final blow.

He got it, blade flashing as it caught winter sun. Then Jane was dead, his head rolling to Tavish’s feet.

Without thinking Tavish reached down and grabbed it, the pathetic remains of Jane’s neck splattering over his hand as he lifted it to eye level. He laughed, loud and joyous, screaming, “ANOTHER POINT FOR ME, LADDIE.”

And then, he caught a glimpse of Soldier’s face.

Because Jane didn’t look quite dead. Of course, he _was_ dead, completely and one hundred percent, but something still in pain in the back of Tavish’s mind made him think different just for a second. Jane looked scared, and if Tavish thought about it, he realized that he had seen that look a brief moment before he’d whisked the Soldier’s head off. It was aggrieved, but more than that it was…heartbroken.

In a brief flash of humanity, Tavish realized what the fuck he was doing. He dropped the severed head in disgust, the helmeted ball rolling away like the chunk of human flesh it was. He dropped the sword too, scrabbling as he tried to get the blood off his hand.

What the fuck was he doing? He just held up a disembodied head and laughed like some sort of psychopath! The blood was all over him now and he kept scraping, trying to get it of get if offgetitoff _getitoffgetitoff_ -

But it just got everywhere and his heart was pounding wondering what the hell was wrong with him-

All the while something worse was happening. There was a pressure, more agonizing than any hangover he’d ever experienced, instead burning like the withdrawal symptoms he’d had the week they’d been snowed in without resupply. It crawled from the base of his skull all the way into his empty eye socket, and in a gasp of pain he had to stop wiping at blood to claw at his face.

With a groan, he fell to his knees, getting blood on his skin as he tried to make it stop-

_You need the sword._

Sword. _Sword_. He needed it now, where was it? Where had he dropped it? He scrabbled in the snow wishing that they’d stayed stationed in Dustbowl just a bit longer if it meant he could _see_ -

There!

His hand knocked against it, and the mere touch of his favorite weapon calmed him. It numbed the panic, and he was able to take a few shuddering breaths and assess himself. He was knee deep in snow, coated in blood, but okay. He hung his head.

“What the hell am I doing?” he asked the blowing snow.

_There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a little revenge, Tavish. You’ve earned this._

Tavish laughed bitterly. “Bloody doesn’t feel like it.” Great, now he was talking to himself. How much more insane could he get?

_After everything he’s done to you, you want to just let it go?_

“No…” Tavish muttered, wondering why he was even bothering to keep up this solo conversation. “But he was good man, even with everything…”

_No. He wasn’t. If he ever cared about you, he wouldn’t have taken a hit out on you. Some people are born scum, and there’s no way around it._

Tavish stayed silent.

_Why do you keep defending him?_

“He was my only friend…” Tavish whispered.

_You don’t need a friend like that. You’re strong Tavish, so much stronger than you know. Once you find what gives you power, you won’t need anyone._

Tavish didn’t have a reply to that. He wiped his eye with his hand, the back of which was relatively clean. He felt pathetic sniveling in the snow a little longer, but finally his self-consciousness got him to stand. The sound of battle drew him away, and he made a promise to himself he would never be so careless with his weapon again.

* * *

Things after that spiraled out of control. The sadness on Jane’s face was a domino effect, tearing open the stitches of Tavish’s mental wounds one by one. The more it hurt, the more he needed the sword, but the more he needed the sword, the more savagely he killed. The carnage only aggravated the hurt, and he found himself in a vicious cycle.

He was protective of the Eyelander. Once, he thought he saw Scout trying to touch it, and almost killed him right there for the slight.

“I KNOW HE WAS GOING FOR IT,” Tavish screamed, brandishing the sword as Heavy barely held him back. “HE FUCKING WANTS IT FOR HIMSELF, I’LL FUCKING KILL HIM!”

“I don’t want your fucking sword jackass!” Scout screamed right back. “I was just going for the damn salt shaker!”

Tavish lunged, trying to break Heavy’s grip. “You try that again you bloody jackrabbit! Just you try!”

“Demoman!” Heavy warned him. “Stop this. Now.”

The rest of the team stared, caught in indecision, and Tavish managed to gain a small amount of self-control under their scrutiny. He concentrated, his breaths slowing until they were ragged yet even. Finally Heavy loosened, and Tavish shook him off with a snarl.

He turned, retreating from the common room without a word. Before he was out of earshot, he could make out the discussion he left behind. “This is getting bad.”

“You’re telling me!” Scout yelled. “Did you see that? The whole half of his face was on fire!”

Tavish ignored it all the way to his room when he couldn’t anymore. He collapsed on his bed, the sword shifting into his hands and he bowed his head over it. His fists clenched so tightly around the Eyelander, it left cuts in the palms of his hand.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he admitted quietly.

_It’s getting worse._

Tavish closed his eye.

_You need to fix this._

“How?” he demanded to no one. At that point he didn’t even think that winning the War would change anything anymore. No revenge could make the regret go away.

_He’s the problem._

“He’s the problem,” Tavish said.

_It won’t stop until he’s gone._

“It won’t stop until he’s gone.” Tavish ran a thumb over the blade. It drew blood.

He didn’t feel conviction, or even understanding at that statement. It was merely something written on the inside of his skull, a declaration not questioned anymore than the fact that he needed to breathe.

“You need to finish him,” he said at the exact moment he thought _You need to finish him._

Tavish opened his eye. It swirled, emerald and blazing.

* * *

It was good they were out of the badlands. If he wanted to catch Jane out of respawn range, this was the only way to force him to leave both his home and his base. The apartment was heavily fortified, locked down tightly and nigh impossible to breach thanks to the Soldier’s paranoia. Tavish knew that, the knowledge floating in the back of his mind like dust in morning’s light.

Nothing else mattered much. Unless it pertained to his goal, it was siphoned away, drifting off like so many flakes of snow.

No distractions. He’d never felt stronger. More in control.

_There can’t be too man places where he’d be able to stay. You should look._

Jane never stayed on base. Not when he could help it. He’d get a room somewhere in town, and there he’d be vulnerable.

There was only one motel. Tavish found it easily enough.

_Up front. They’ll have records._

Tavish kept to the shadows as he staked out the motel. It was small, shabby, fitting perfectly with Jane’s aesthetic. As Tavish looked at the entrance, the only part of the building still illuminated, he spied a woman reading a book on the counter. It only took a large rock thrown at some trashcans to get her up and moving, and Tavish slipped his foot in the door as she ran to see his distraction.

Doe, Doe, Doe…Nothing. Tavish glared at the guestbook in disappointment. But he searched his mind again, and he realized Jane’s mistrust wouldn’t let him put down his own name. There: Thomas Jefferson, room 47. Tavish grabbed the spare key and slipped out just as the woman returned to her post.

Tavish walked up to the second floor. A warmth burned inside, the concrete knowledge that was all going to end soon.

43…44…

Each step rocked his insides, the thought of total control just within his grasp.

45…46…

With Jane gone, there would be no one controlling him.

47.

Tavish stood in front of the room, hands moving like he’d already done this a hundred times before. The key fit into the lock without a sound, and he pushed the door inward.

The motel room was completely dark, the light from the door polluting its solitude. Once Tavish closed it behind him, the only illumination came from the balcony, disturbed by full-length shades that turned the light into vertical slats. A cigar was put out in the ashtray, still smoking, accompanied by a half-dozen beer bottles on the nightstand.

Jane was on the bed.

His form moved heavily, steady breathing from what appeared to be an alcohol educed sleep. He was on top of the covers, not even out of his day clothes.

Tavish knew what to do. He moved methodically, quietly treading forward as the Eyelander came to rest in both hands. He was ready to strike, to split Jane open, to coat the motel bed sheets in the red of his blood. But when he raised his blade to give the killing blow, his foot knocked against an empty strewn across the floor.

Jane’s eyes snapped open. The blade arced down, but it was too late, the Soldier already springing off the mattress and rolling from the immediately recognized danger. Tavish stepped forward and swung again, but Jane reacted too fast, years of paranoia readying him for midnight battles that came at a moment’s notice. The Soldier lunged, grabbing his shovel from the side of the mattress and snapping it open.

Tavish followed him, already accepting his failures. This would end here and now, sneak attack or no.

It was difficult to see in the half-light of the shades, but Tavish didn’t need details. He leaped forward, a growl on his lips that simply said, “ ** _heads_**.”

Jane reacted on pure instinct, the old weapon meeting the new sword for the first time. It was fitting really. To best Jane, once and for all, showing him exactly who had the power here.

Jane met each blow, the dimension of him lost in the night. It was fighting a shadow, each time the weapons met was a clang in the dark followed by a grunt from Jane. Tavish was strong. Too strong, engorged on the full facilities of this body he now controlled.

_There! Now!_

Tavish saw the opening, sliding his blade under the shovel’s flat and ripping it from its owner’s grasp. It went sailing, landing on the motel room floor with a clatter, and Tavish wasted no time pinning Jane to the wall behind him.

The sword was at his throat in an instant. He was beaten. Completely at Tavish’s mercy.

_Finish him. End it._

At this distance, the glow from Tavish’s eye bathed Jane in a green light. Tavish could see his face for the first time and it looked…

Terrified.

Maybe it was because he realized he was about to die. Or maybe it was because the sight of an intruder with a sword and a single glowing eye is enough to make any grown man wet himself. But regardless, on Jane’s face the fear looked…strange. Alien. Jane wasn’t supposed to be scared. He wasn’t supposed to be scared of Tavish.

_What are you doing? Kill him!_

Jane swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing against the blade and deepening the cut along his throat, sending a small dribble of blood slid along the Eyelander’s steel. He looked so much like he had in the dream, eyes pleading for Tavish stop this. And he’d been like this once before, that one night so long ago, sitting on his couch and looking so small, so vulnerable…

_Fucking kill him already!_

“Shut up…” Tavish muttered, his words muddied by the fog in his mind. “I’m thinking…”

**_If you don’t kill him then I will!_ **

And then it came together. He was able to scrape through the muck in his brain long enough to realize _the voice wasn’t his own._

The sword was moving, pressing forward against Jane’s unprotected throat. The Soldier was pinned, helpless thanks to Tavish, and this had to stop…had to stop this…

He didn’t quite grasp it all yet, didn’t understand exactly what was wrong with him. But he knew one thing: he didn’t want to hurt Jane any more than he already had. He forced all his strength into his arms, every last drop of willpower he hadn’t surrendered to the festering inside his head. One hand wrapped around the blade and pulled it back, and with a surge of effort he flung the Eyelander across the room.

It landed with a clatter. He staggered under the force of throwing it, following its trajectory with his body.

He was turned away from his victim, and, because of it, he didn’t see when Jane took the bedside lamp and thumped him in the back of the head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> emporer palpetine voice: *do it*


	3. Cleaning Up Some Evidence

The lamp was heavy with a solid stone base, and a blow to the Demoman’s head had knocked Tavish out cold, leaving Jane to look over the body while still brandishing his modified weapon. Jane’s first instinct, and overall safest option, was to brain Tavish a second time, finishing the job and making sure he wouldn’t be getting back up. But Jane hesitated; something wasn’t right here. Okay, _obviously_ something wasn’t right with the glowing fire eye, but there was more than that. There had been no mercy in Tavish since the beginning of the War, but in the brief instant before he’d killed Jane, there had been some sort of…recognition.

Plus, it’s been a long time since he’d killed anybody unarmed. Finishing off someone who’s helpless didn’t appeal to him anymore, which was more than he could say for _some people_ apparently.

So Jane didn’t hit him again, instead setting the lamp down on the nightstand. It was carved with a little cherub at its neck, the curvature fitting perfectly in his clammy hand, and he made sure to keep it within arm’s reach as he checked over Tavish.

At first, he worried actually _had_ killed Tavish. It was hard to tell if he was breathing, and it wasn’t until Jane pressed two fingers against the Demoman’s neck that he was able to feel a faint pulse. A mix of emotions came at the discovery. There was certainty, now that he knew what he was working with, but a bit of relief slipped in there too.

Jane frowned at his own reaction. Tavish had _come here to kill him_ , there was no reason for the Soldier to feel pity for this sad excuse of a mercenary. And yet, the look in his eye when he and Jane came face to face after so long…

Tavish had been talking to himself. It seemed like he wasn’t sure of his decision at all, and was wrestling with his own inner demons when it came to Jane, a dilemma Jane was all too familiar with. The Soldier had his own moments when he wasn’t sure if he was acting rationally or was just as crazy as everyone said, and that just made the conflict inside him all the more vitriolic.

But hey, at least he’d never sneaked into another mercenary’s hotel room. That was something.

Carefully, Jane checked Tavish over for any weapons and found none. Some assassination attempt this was; the only thing Tavish had brought was that fucking sword, the one that had been tearing through BLU team like they were sliced ham.

As he eyed the thing from where it stuck out of the floor like some Arthurian legend, Jane gently touched his throat. The sword had been so hot when it’d cut him, burning like it was going to cauterize the wound even as it sunk into his flesh. But that must have been all in his head, since his fingers still came away with fresh blood.

Jane shoved his superstitions aside, and stepped forward to yank the sword from the wood.

As soon as his palm contacted the pommel, a hole was ripped open inside his mind, the sudden void filled with

**_KILL HIM_ **          

The pain was more excruciating than anything he’d felt in his life. Even after everything being a BLU had thrown at him, _this_ destroyed him from the inside out, becoming endless, inescapable, stretching beyond the recesses of time. Jane wasn’t in his motel room anymore. He wasn’t anywhere, his body vaporized and leaving him with no sense except pain, not even able to tell if he was screaming or not.

But finally, the impossible happened. The agony stopped.

Jane blinked. He was lying face down, eating floor just like the position he’d left Tavish in. With a groan, he turned, seeing the unconscious Demoman still lying near the bed.

Jane couldn’t have been out for more than a few seconds, but it felt an eternity, and as he pushed himself up he stared wide eyed at the sword. Had Tavish been feeling that the whole time? Impossible, no one could function like that.

There was no doubt now. Something in that thing was really fucking evil.

Regaining his balance, Jane looked down at his would-be attacker. The pain from the sword had frightened him, and he decided it was best to tie Tavish up.

As he did, he questioned the sanity of his actions again. Why even bother waiting around for Tavish to wake up? You weren’t supposed to let people dare to try and kill you and then just let them get away with it. Such insubordination should be punished by death! By asskicking! By throwing them off the top of the Hightower!

And yet…this was _Tavish_.

As much as Jane hated the man and what he’d done, he’d once cared about the Demoman more than words could explain. That’s why the betrayal had hurt so much, why the _whole War_ hurt so much. For a time, he’d even tried to convince himself that this new, traitorous Demoman wasn’t the real Tavish, and that the woman inside the TV had gotten an incredibly convincing lookalike. (It would certainly explain all the civilian-calling and back-stabbing.) But even Jane wasn’t delusional enough to believe that forever. As time went on and nothing changed between the two of them, even that faint hope had slowly eroded away.

It hurt. Really hurt. Ever since it’d begun Jane couldn’t function well off the battlefield. In fact, he’d pretty much been drinking himself into a stupor until right before Tavish had shown up.

“What’s your fucking problem?” Jane growled at his unconscious form. “Why are you still making me think about you? Can’t you just let me hate you in peace?”

Tavish failed to answer.

Jane stood and glared at him. There were shoelaces around his wrists, and the lamp cord bound his legs together; when Tavish woke, he’d be about as mobile as a wet noodle. His proneness just made Jane angrier.

“Couldn’t even come and kill me proper you maggot,” Jane continued. “Pathetic. You betrayed me for that-!” He pointed a meaty finger at the sword sticking out of the ground. “-and don’t even know how use it!”

When Tavish, unsurprisingly, still didn’t reply, Jane decided he’d had enough. He stormed into the hotel bathroom, coming out a moment later with a towel wrapped around the palm of his hand. Using his improvised oven mitt, he grasped the sword by the hilt and tore it from the floor.

Even with the barrier between his skin and the metal, Jane still felt and unexplainable heat pulsing into his palm. He didn’t wait around to see if it’d burn its way through. Charging forward, he ripped the door to the balcony open, sending the shades clattering. Every drop of anger over what had been done to him, every tear he’d shed over that stupid Demoman, became fuel for his next action. He threw it, hard, the sword spinning tip over hilt as it arched through the moonlight.

Jane watched it sail, breathing heavily as though he’d just walked ten miles instead of a few feet. It winked out of sight, disappearing into the blackness of the desert.

For a moment, Jane felt a small thrill of victory. Tavish would be furious when he woke up. Good. He didn’t deserve his precious sword, not after he’d earned it being a bad friend.

The feeling of success last about as long as it took him to turn around. “Oh…shit.”

Tavish was right where Jane had left him, on the floor, and spasming out of his goddamned mind. He was like a worm dropped in a puddle, thrashing about with his legs still bound, repeatedly slamming his own head into the floor. Jane rushed forward with no idea what to, stupefied into inaction by the scene before him.

When spittle began to fly from Tavish’s mouth, Jane realized he had to do something. He leaned over and tried to pin Tavish’s shoulders to the floor. Tavish chose that moment to snap his head upward, and smashed his forehead right into Jane’s nose.

“Ahg!” Jane yelled, thrown back by the pain.

What the fuck? Was this some kind of seizure? Jane didn’t know the first thing about seizure safety, and he clutched his nose and cursed Tavish and all he stood for. But he was still concerned for the Demoman, and that realization hurt worse than his bloody nose.

Jane did the best he could. With a grunt, he got Tavish on the bed, then searched for more things he could use as restraints. He pinned down the arms and legs, fighting the Demoman tooth and nail, and found some weird clamps in the closet he used to make a head brace.

“I’m trying to help you, maggot!” Jane grunted said as he strapped Tavish’s head in.

The seizures didn’t slow, but at least Tavish wasn’t at risk of giving himself whiplash anymore. Sweat dampened his clothes and the sheets, his eye twitched rapidly underneath its lid, and every now and then his back would curl like he was trying to break free. Overall, he wasn’t looking great.

Jane finally allowed himself to stand back from the bed. “Jesus Tav. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.” He was so tired he didn’t even notice when the Demoman’s name slipped from his mouth.

There was a flurry of dried saliva clinging to Tavish’s mouth, to which Jane wrinkled his nose. He left, getting another damp towel from the bathroom, and carefully wiped the mess away.

Halfway through the act he paused. Then he sighed. “Fuck you. Fuck you for still making me care about you.”

Tavish’s only response was to twitch in his sleep, and Jane regretfully went back to cleaning off the Demoman’s face.

* * *

Morning found Soldier passed out on the floor. On first impression, the pounding in his head and the empty bottles surrounding him would lead him to believe that he was recovering from a particularly harsh bender. The giveaway though was his altitude, and a soft snore was coming from the bed above him.

He pushed himself up with a groan, and checked on Tavish. The Demoman was still out of it, but the convulsions had stopped some time in the night. Jane didn’t even try to suppress the sigh of relief that eased out of him.

It still took another hour for Tavish’s eye to blink open. He looked worse than any hangover Jane’d ever seen him in, bags under his eye and face plastered with dry sweat. But, most importantly, his eye had softened back to its natural brown, no trace of the green flame. Jane had been thinking a lot about it last night, when the thrashing sounds from the bed had kept him from drifting off. He had the beginnings of an idea about this whole thing, but he wanted to hear what Tavish had to say first.

“Morning, scum,” Jane said, standing at the foot of the bed. “Rise and shine.”

Instead of talking back, Tavish looked around the room, slowly regaining his facilities. When he realized he was restrained, he began to panic, twisting at the shoelaces above his head.

“Don’t bother,” Jane grunted. “If you didn’t bust out of those while you were being possessed by the devil, you’re not going to now.”

Tavish’s eye darted around, sweat already forming on his brow. “What are…? Where are we?” His voice was vague, unfocused, trying to fight off waves of alarm.

“You tell me cyclops,” Jane said. “You’re the one who broke in here.”

Tavish’s face only became confused. Jane blinked, wondering how much of his suspicions were true. Then again, Tavish could just be pretending in order to garner sympathy.

“W-what?” Tavish murmur, slowly regaining control of his voice. “Broke in? I don’t…remember…”

“What _do_ you remember then?” Jane said, growing impatient.

“I remember…” Tavish closed his eye concentrating, stopping his struggle against the restraints. “I was…having a dream. You were there, falling, I…I’m sorry…I…”

A dream? Must have been a pretty shitty dream if he was trying to kill himself in his sleep. Jane leaned further on the footboard and said nothing.

“Then…I went down to the armory? And I got the Eyelander…” Tavish’s eye widened slowly. “The Eyelander…Miss Pauling, she gave it to me for the War. The War…Jane.” On his last word he looked up, as though seeing Jane properly for the first time.

“So nothing about trying to murder me?” Jane asked gruffly. This was getting him nowhere, it was like talking to a coma patient.

“…Something about a hotel? I don’t…” Tavish’s eye was darting around, like the memories were coming too fast. “The War. Oh god Jane…Jane I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I Jane didn’t want…”

And then something Jane didn’t prepare for. Tavish was crying, tears building in his eye by the second. He wasn’t even looking at Jane, more like he was talking to a past version of the Soldier, one that lived in his memories and he couldn’t get back. The current Jane took a step away from the bed, alarmed.

“I’m so sorry,” Tavish repeated. “I should have talked to you, should have went and found you as soon as the tried to get me to take the deal…” His head was free of the brace that had held him during his seizures, and he raised it to look Jane directly in the eye. “I hurt you so much…I’m so sorry.”

It was more than Jane could take. He backed away from the bed, knocking against the opposite wall and unable to look away from Tavish. Part of him thought that this was all some trick, crocodile tears to pull on the heartstrings and lower Jane’s guard. But he knew it wasn’t. This was Tavish, giving him something he didn’t know how badly he needed: an apology.

Jane looked away. Of all the scenarios, the fact that Tavish would ever come back and just say _I’m sorry_ had never crossed Jane’s mind. All his fantasies had been about seeking revenge on the Demoman, of hurting him as badly as he’d hurt Jane. But the way Tavish was looking at him now, so vulnerable, awakened feelings in Jane he didn’t want to admit he still had.

“I threw out your stupid sword,” Jane muttered, refusing to make eye contact.

“…Oh,” Tavish replied blankly. Maybe hurt that Jane hadn’t accepted his apology so easily. “Yeah. That. I…I needed that. Or used to I guess. It…helped me forget some of the guilt.”

Jane hesitated, but everything Tavish was saying confirmed his suspicions. “It helped you forget, huh? And now you can’t remember much of anything.”

Now it was Tavish’s turn to hesitate. “What…do you mean?”

Jane shifted on his feet, wondering how to put the words together. Having Tavish so far away was strangely awkward, so (despite the fact that the Demoman had tried to kill him only a few hours before) Jane came to the side of the bed and sat down.

“Tavish,” he began quietly. “I think your sword is fucked up.” The confusion returned to Tavish’s face, and Jane pressed on ahead. “Last night you…were talking to it. Ever since you got that thing you’ve been different and also on fire. I used to have a wizard as a roommate, I know some fucking evil magic when I see it.”

Understanding finally lit in Tavish’s eye. “Are you saying I’ve been possessed?”

Not as good at finding the right words, Jane just nodded.

“Oh,” Tavish blinked. “Jesus fucking _shit_!” His voice steadily increased until he was practically yelling in self-hatred. “A fucking ‘haunted sword’ she said, of course, of-fucking course! How did I not see that?? I could I have been so bloody stupid?”

“You were under its control, Tavish,” Jane said quickly. He didn’t know why, but suddenly the sight of Tavish beating himself up made his stomach sick. “It wasn’t _all_ your fault.”

“That doesn’t fucking matter!” Tavish spit. “I should have turned it down or…or fought it harder. Just _something_. But instead I was fooled easier than a child hearing about Old Nick. Years of avoiding magic ‘n curses and what did that get me?”

He slumped backwards, looking even more worn than before. Jane, for his part, shifted on the bed awkwardly. There was no reason not to believe Tavish was anything less than heartbroken, not with the way he wiped an angry tear from his eye. And, more importantly, Jane _wanted_ to believe it.

Tavish took a steadying breath and looked up. “I’m sorry Jane. For…” He looked shamefully around the room. “For what I almost did.”

“…It’s okay Tav.” And Jane meant it. He hadn’t let himself realize how badly he wanted Tavish back. But…there was still something in way of fully accepting him. “I just…need to ask you a question. And you have to answer honestly, alright?”

“Of course,” Tavish said, still looking so guilty.

“When you were possessed, did you…tell anybody the…the secret?”

Tavish raised an eyebrow, only briefly confused about what Jane might be referring to. Then he lowered his eye in guilt. “I…I dunno. I really don’t Jane, I can’t remember anything about that. But, if I did, I’m so sorry. I never should have let any of this happen, never let myself hurt you so much.”

Jane nodded, closing his eyes for a second while tears leaked out of them. “It’s okay Tavish. Remember, I hurt you too.” And for maybe less reason. If that thing had been controlling Tavish when he said all those things then…Jane didn’t want to think about it. That blame could be shouldered another time. For now, he was just glad to have Tavish back.

In one impulsive motion, he lunged forward and hugged Tavish around the chest. It was so good to be with him again, or at least with him in a way that didn’t involve murder for fun and profit.

Tavish tried to hug him back, but only managed to pull unsuccessfully at the headboard. Jane noticed, and reached to untie the bindings.

“Don’t,” Tavish yelped suddenly, stopping Jane mid-motion. “W-what if the Eyelander can still control me? What if I attack you again?”

“I threw it outside,” Jane shrugged. “I’m pretty sure I saw you exorcised last night.”

But Tavish still shook his head. “I…I need to be sure. Something like that, you’d need to return it from whence it came but…I don’t think Pauling’s going to be too thrilled taking it back.” He barked out a dry laugh. Then he quieted, lost in though for a moment. “Could you…take it, throw it in a loch somewhere? That’s usually a surefire way to break a curse.”

“Not a lot of lakes in New Mexico,” Jane pointed out.

“Jane,” Tavish said, voice steeled. “Please? For me?”

Jane took a shaking breath. “Okay. If it’ll bring the old Tav back, I’ll do anything.” He hugged Tavish one last time for good luck.

* * *

It did take a long time to find a lake. But several missed exits later, Jane did manage to up to a small, dirty little thing, and spit in its general direction.

“Looks like the perfect spot. Ready to be worm food you goddamned stick of metal?”

He didn’t think worms actually could eat swords, but if any weapon deserved it, it was this one. Carefully, he withdrew the Eyelander from the pillowcase it’d resided in since he’d retrieved it from the desert, and clutched it in his hand. It gleamed maliciously in the morning sun, but could do nothing more than that.

With a snarl, he gave his parting words, “now stay the fuck away from my friend,” and chucked it into the grimy water.

Already, the day seemed brighter.

It took less time for Jane to get back to the motel, and found Tavish passed out cold in the room. He didn’t know if it was just from the exhaustion of last night, or something about throwing the sword really had pulled the last bits of spirit from within him. Either way, Jane was ready with some water and chips from the vending machine as soon as Tavish woke up.

“Better?” Jane asked once the Demoman had emptied the glass Jane held to his face.

“Aye,” Tavish nodded, wiping the corner of his mouth against his shoulder.

“Can I untie you now?”

Tavish hesitated, but nodded. All while Jane worked him free, he seemed nervous, as though afraid his own body would spring on the Soldier as soon a the restraints were gone. But they came off without a hitch, and he remained sitting upright while his breathing returned to normal.

“Chips?” Jane asked, presenting him the bag. Tavish seemed nervous for a moment, afraid to let down his guard, but the temptation of food overpowered him and he accepted the gift.

“It’s good you have an appetite,” Jane said as the tension drained out of the room. “That means you are completely healthy!”

“That’s not how medicine works, Jane,” Tavish said, but he chuckled as he did. “I’m just happy everything doesn’t have a green film over it anymore.”

That one made Jane laugh too, and soon the two of them fell back into their old ways as easy as that. They spent the next couple minutes in pleasant conversation, talking about nothing like they always used to.

It wasn’t until Tavish finished his bag that they stopped, and the Demoman looked mournfully down at his hands. “I, don’t want to hurt you anymore Janey. I never want to again.”

Jane’s breath caught in his throat, and he let it out second by second. Then, he pulled Tavish into another hug, only their third in so many weeks.

“I know Tav.” He rested his chin on Tavish’s shoulder to hear him breathe. Then, Jane cracked a small, private smile. “Although, if you’re not, it looks like I have this whole War thing in the bag.”

Tavish laughed, louder than appropriate, shaking in Jane’s arms. It was good one, of relief, and was followed up with the expected, “you’re a right bastard, you know that?”


End file.
